There is a poem by W.H. Auden that runs through my head when someone important to me dies. While the sentiment it expresses isn’t always wholly appropriate for each person, it is so good at evoking a true sense of loss — that desire to not just stop the clocks, but to go back in time so that it hasn’t happened. And that is what I’ve been feeling the last few weeks since I found out that the great Gansey knitter, Gordon Reid passed away in December.
Gordon was a lovely man — a character for sure. He was funny, and unendingly generous with his knowledge about knitting Ganseys. He would always give advice qualifying it with a statement that he wasn’t an expert (I beg to differ). He was very humble about his accomplishments, like the fact that he had finished some 100 ganseys since 1998. Most of those he gave away as gifts. As his friend Graeme Bethune noted, “Gordon made and gave Ganseys in the same way most of us might send a birthday card…”
Portrait of Gordon Reid by Jim Dunn, courtesy of Highland Threads.
I had just begun knitting the ribbing for a Gansey when I got the terrible news. I almost ripped it back, feeling like I wouldn’t be able to do it without his encouragement. In fact, I spent this past weekend dropping down columns of stitches to repair purls where knits should be and vice versa. It came very close to going into the “time out” graveyard of barely started and abandoned projects. But I have kept going to honor Gordon more than just to knit a Gansey.
I’ve also been doing a bit of background research on the economy that was fostered by an explosion of available herring and its popularity in Europe particularly between 1860 and WWII. The height of herring (known as the “silver darlings”) enterprise was about 1920, and with the rise in popularity of photography in the late 19th century, photographers captured many studio portraits as well as images of the boats, crews, and the fish packers. It is fortunate that so many of these have survived.
Almost all of the gutting, salting, and packing of the fish was done by women — known as the “Herring Girls” or “Herring Lassies.” These women worked upwards of 10 hours a day during the season, gutting 30-50 herring a minute and filling about 30 barrels a day working in teams of three.
“Herring Lassies” followed the fleet during the season, going from port to port by bus, train, and/or ferry. They paid their own way, and their pay was very low, although pay of any rate was absolutely welcome. Some traveled just to nearby ports, but others made their way from Cornwall and Falmouth in the south of England, up the coast to Scotland, including the Hebrides and Shetland Islands, and around the north coast to Wick and the Orkneys, before heading down the east coast. Some even travelled as far as Ireland for their work.
Breaks from the work were rare, but there were occasional lulls while waiting for a catch to be landed. No time was wasted, however, and these women knit socks, long johns and Ganseys in those spare moments.
There were sweaters for fisherman that were knit much earlier than the iconic Ganseys we recognize today. These would have been knit of homespun wool, but there are few, if any examples extant. The yarn we now associate with Gansey knitting was only made possible by commercial mill spinning that wasn’t available until about 1860. Much of the yarn used for Ganseys was navy blue, and consisted of woolen spun, 5-ply yarn . It was so tightly spun, tough and durable that it was sometimes called “seaman’s iron.” From the point of commercial production onward, there was an explosion of Gansey knitting associated with all of the fishing ports in the UK and beyond.
There are some designs related to individual regions that are readily identifiable, although with the “Herring Lassies” moving from port to port, those designs were copied and incorporated into jumpers wherever a knitter took a fancy to a new pattern. A quick scan through the literature will give you references to distinguish between an Eriskay Gansey from the outer Hebrides, and those knit in the Caithness region in mainland Scotland.*
While the decoration of Ganseys might only be groups of knits and purls (and a limited number of cables), at a gauge of 10-12 stitches/inch, they were a knitting tour de force.
Many of the images from the late 18th and early 19th centuries are studio portraits that document quite exceptional garments. These clearly were “Sunday Best” and the everyday jumper would have been more simply patterned.
Few examples of everyday Ganseys exist, and no wonder. These were worn day in and day out until they could no longer be repaired, and then were repurposed for rags.
The patterns Gordon Reid used for many of his early Ganseys came from books like Mary Wright’s Cornish Guernseys & Knit-frocks (1979). But in 2011 when he and his wife Margaret relocated to Wick on the far north coast of mainland Scotland, things changed. He found the Johnston Collection, some 60,000 glass plate negatives and photos produced by 3 generations of the Johnston family between 1863 and 1975.
This was a rich resources, with images so crisp and clear that the patterns could be charted. His wife Margaret (who taught him to knit) charted the designs, and Gordon made modern versions based on their combined best guess of what they saw on the photos. Although in many cases they actually could count the stitches in a pattern, it was not possible to achieve the fine gauge of the originals.
Here Gordon is wearing a gansey called Wick Leaves, derived from a photo in the Johnston Collection. This pattern was published in The Knitter, Issue 185 in January, 2023, and can be purchased on Ravelry.
Gordon documented his work on his website, Gansey Nation. It is a very valuable resource for anyone wanting to dip their toes into this unique knitting style. There you will find Gordon’s last Gansey, just recently finished and blocked by Margaret. Theirs was a long collaboration and partnership of love, and love of knitting. You can well imagine that she would find it hard to see it finished, and harder still to part with it. But part with it she shall. It was made to be a gift, and so she will gently fold it up and send it to its new home, where there is no doubt it will be cherished.
There is a hole in the universe where Gordon once was, and I will certainly miss him. I’ll miss the wry comments on his blog, and his always cheery and funny emails. We had a plan to finally meet up for the first time in May, and I am so very sad that now won’t happen. I hope he’s looking over my shoulder and giving a chuckle at my misplaced purls as I grow this blue beast on my needles that just might one day be a Gansey.
Off and on the needles…
This is just a couple of swatches that show two versions of the Tree of Life that may or may not end up on my gansey.
The first of two ornaments I’m working on for our Wednesday group project. I need to get a good measure of the amount of yarn each needs so I can put together kits for my compatriots. They are a pretty quick knit, with the only annoying part being the last 1/3 where you’re working around a styrofoam ball.
Henry VIII is done. I need to do a bit more blocking since I got a very distinct ridge from the blocking circle I used. Blocking over a sewing ham was recommended, and I think I’ll try that to even out the curve. I’ve put aside the mitts that match to finish up some other projects, but will get back to it at some point.
Meanwhile…
I’ve actually started doing a little writing on my book, so it’s beginning to have a shape. Writing a short tribute to Gordon Reid for the Journal of Scottish Yarn had me pulling together quite a bit of the information I’d gathered about Ganseys, and I realized the topic is big enough to have its own chapter. In addition to all of the economic and social history around the garment, there are just way too many wonderful photos I hope to use. It may be a little hard to keep it under control.
So for the time being, I hope this finds all of you well and happily knitting/spinning/crocheting/weaving (etc) and staying inside with hot cocoa. I know that’s the highest priority on my list!
I hope the tree of life finds a place in your sweater!